


You Are the Apple of My Eye

by SonOfaChipwich



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Baking, Breakfast, F/F, Female Character of Color, Female-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonOfaChipwich/pseuds/SonOfaChipwich
Summary: Hella and Adelaide pass the time in Aubade making breakfast together. Also, feelings.





	You Are the Apple of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Witchybrew62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchybrew62/gifts).



Rough-woven rope slid through Hella’s coarse-callused hands as she tied the mooring hitch. This, she recognized, was done more out of habit than anything. The ocean surrounding the Isle Aubade stretched on forever, its tides glacially slow and its current gentle. A drifting boat in this harbor would stay almost entirely in place, with no threat of theft or vandalism. There was nowhere for it to go. 

No worries, no danger, no change. Welcome to paradise, courtesy of the King-God Samothes. 

A polite cough shook Hella from her brooding. Adelaide Tristé stood, her right hand primly extended, regally graceful even on the swaying surface of the boat. Hella took Adelaide’s slim hand in hers and supported her as she stepped onto the dock. Her light tread and the flowing, pearlescent sundress she wore suggested weightlessness, but her body leaning on Hella’s arm as she alighted from the boat was more than tangible. Hella hastily dropped Adelaide’s hand and turned quickly back to the vessel, giving it a perfunctory final once-over. 

“A pleasure as always, captain,” Adelaide said, pretending not to notice her embarrassment. “Remind me why we cast off so early this morning? I hardly had time to do my hair properly.”

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Hella replied as she surveyed the boat. “You asked me to let you know when I would be going, so I did. I just wanted to change my routine a little.” 

Back in Hieron, sailing at different times of day could be like sailing different oceans entirely. The temperature and active sea life varied incredibly, and a night voyage had a completely different feeling than a mid-day trek did. It wasn’t something she could properly explain to a sheltered royal, even one as wordly as Adelaide. Besides, that wonderful variation was flattened in Aubade. So close to the Living Sun Himself, night was only slightly cooler than day, and, while pearl-eels and the large, fatty fish which Lem jokingly dubbed “Salmonthes” were lovely and delicious, they and the other marine life here were ubiquitous and active at all times of day. There were no seasonal species, either, being that there were no seasons. 

“Oh, it’s not that I really mind,” Adelaide replied. “ I’m sure you don’t care if my braids are improperly done. And I think I understand the appeal. Out on the water, moving so fast in the darkness, you could almost believe that you’re going to get somewhere else.” 

Hella nodded slowly, facing her again. “Almost.” She sighed, restlessly flexing her right hand. “Thank you for coming out. I do appreciate the company.”

“As do I, Queen-killer,” Adelaide smiled coyly. “This place has a true sense of community. That’s rare, I think. But I can’t make myself a part of it. Without you, I would be quite alone here.” She laughed. “Not that I would be here in the first place, without you.” 

Hella blushed as they began the short walk from the docks to the center of Aubade, recalling her snap decision to pull the Queen of Death off of her throne and into this little world alongside herself. As much as Adelaide could frustrate her, she was beginning to regard it as one of the better, or at least less awful, choices she had recently made. Despite everything Hella had done, the truly evil actions she took when convinced of their necessity, Adelaide still chose to be near her, took a special interest in her. Hella wasn’t sure exactly why, but she wasn’t about to question it too closely. She feared that Adelaide’s fascination with her might disappear under scrutiny, might break in her hand, like so many things did.

“Hella, I would like to have breakfast with you.” Adelaide stated the question without asking it, ever the noble diplomat. 

Hella considered the storefronts as they passed by, mentally listing the handful of eclectic restaurants on offer in Aubade. The Blade in the Dark had carved a bloody swathe across Hieron throughout history, which had the unexpected benefit of providing the sword-town with a fairly diverse culinary profile. 

“Sure. I like that place,” Hella said, pointing down an alley at an unassuming wooden door. Adelaide stared quizzically for a moment before noticing a name on the door, scrawled in white paint at about knee level: “DOBBOS KOBBIN OMLET’S.”

“Dobbo is a pretty nice guy,” Hella continued. “He doesn’t let you pick what goes on your omelette, but they’re always good.”

Adelaide blinked slowly. After a moment, she asked, “Do Kobbins lay eggs?”

Hella shrugged. “Eh.”

Adelaide kept walking, only momentarily perturbed, “I don’t mean that I’m going to buy you breakfast, Hella. We are going to make it.”

“Make it? Hella asked. “You know how to cook? Don’t you have... people for that?” 

“You assume that because I am royal, I have no practical skills,” Adelaide replied curtly. “You’d be wrong. Remember, I was not intended to be the heir to the throne of Triste. My brother was.” Hella winced, the pain of murdering Calhoun in a misguided attempt to do the right thing still raw, even so far removed from the act. Adelaide continued, “His was the upbringing removed from everyday drudgery. It takes a lot, learning how to be a god. I, on the other hand, was raised to be a statesperson, a functionary. That requires knowledge of much more mundane pursuits, among them cooking. I am competent in the culinary basics of almost every land in the world. Today, however, I would like to make a Nacrish specialty for you.” 

Hella chuckled. “What is it? Baked apples with a side of applesauce?”

Adelaide shook her head with a wry smile. “Something like that.” 

 

Aubade was a study in architectural eclecticness. Gather a group of people whose only unifying trait is “killed with a magic sword” and give them all limitless time and resources to build their own homes, and you end up with grand, colonnaded halls next to sleek, minimal dwellings across from basic lean-tos. Most homes, though, were clustered in the center of the island, close to Samothes and each other. Adelaide’s house sat a ways off, atop a hill on the fringes of Aubade’s central hub. A four story tower of white marble, it could have been plucked from Nacre’s skyline. 

Adelaide had built it before a year had passed. Some long-time residents, always eager to befriend newcomers, had assisted her, as had Hella. “My Empire can’t reach this place, so I need something to remind me of home,” Adelaide has said. 

“Or maybe you just need to be able to look down on people,” Hella had said, to Adelaide’s amusement. 

Now, Adelaide lead Hella up to the tower’s second floor, throwing open the curved bay windows to let fresh air fill the sparkling interior. Adelaide’s kitchen was spacious and well-stocked, occupying the entire level save for a small nook with a table and chairs for dining. 

Every surface and every tool was immaculately clean, all freshly scrubbed or brand-new by the looks of them. Hella wondered if, despite all Adelaide’s talk, this kitchen had even been used yet. And when Adelaide did cook, what would she produce? Something beautiful, Hella imagined, something pretty and scintillating which dissolved into nothing when you tried to take a bite. A sweet meringue with an enticing look, but which evaded your spoon in the bowl. She was surprised, then, when Adelaide laid out her ingredients: eggs, milk, butter, sugar, flour, spices, and, of course, apples. 

“Are we making a cake?” Hella asked. 

“Similar,” Adelaide said, already cracking eggs and pouring flour. “They’re called gâteaux-frits.” 

“Fried castles?” 

Adelaide laughed at this, deep in her belly rather than the usual breathy snicker. Hella blushed, only partly from embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry to laugh, Hella,” Adelaide said once she had her breath back. “To your credit, that was almost correct. Are you learning Nacrish?”

“I’ve picked up a word or two,” Hella muttered. 

Adelaide beamed, a rare expression on her proud face. Hella felt that the room had warmed considerably. 

“Hella Varal, you never cease to impress me.”

Hella cleared her throat, not willing to let on how the compliment affected her. “So, what do you need me to do?” she asked, hoping that busying herself would diffuse the tension. 

Adelaide moved the dough she had mixed onto a large cutting board and lit a wood stove in the center of the kitchen. “Put those strong hands to good use,” she commanded, “and knead the dough while I prepare the filling.” 

Hella washed her hands as Adelaide deftly sliced several apples while simultaneously melting spiced butter in a dish on the stove. As Hella began to work the dough with her hands, the warming mixture filled the space with a delicious smell, transporting her back to Nacre and the bakeries and restaurants which lined the streets there. It might have distressed her, given all that had happened when she visited the Capital of Pearls, but here, with Adelaide near, it felt comfortable, secure. Though Hella wouldn’t have said it aloud, it felt for all the world like home. 

Adelaide arranged the apple slices in the dish and left them to simmer. Standing beside Hella, she inspected the lump of dough critically. “Typical Hella. Such strength, but so ill-applied. This isn’t your Ordennan campaigning hardtack, you can’t just beat the dough into submission. Here, let me show you.”

Hella was about to protest; she could make bread well enough, and she would not be condescended to. But then Adelaide moved in close, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing her smaller, slimmer hands on Hella’s. Gently, Adelaide guided her arms, modelling slow, deliberate motions, as if she were massaging the dough. Hella focused intently on learning this proper kneading so that she wouldn’t focus instead on the way Adelaide’s body pressed against her own. 

“There,” Adelaide said, stepping back, apparently satisfied with Hella’s technique. “That will give us the consistency we want.”

Adelaide continued to administrate, balletically moving here and there, pouring the finished apple reduction into a bowl, filling a large pan with golden oil, and stoking the stove fire to heat it. She watched approvingly while Hella kneaded and then handed her a rolling pin to flatten it out for cutting. Together, they divided the silky dough into long, narrow strips, which they latticed together, Adelaide with the speed and economy of a weaver, Hella with the careful clumsiness of one unused to delicate tasks. They doled out a generous portion of the thick apple filling to each lattice of dough, closed them up by twisting the strips of dough together at the top, and placed the lot into the now bubbling pan with a long-handled wire-mesh spatula. The pastries hissed pleasantly as they fried, and the apple-spice scent in the air took on the sharp edge of hot oil. 

Soon, a baker’s-dozen hot, golden-brown fried cakes sat steaming on the countertop. Hella, covered in smeared flour and cooking oil, felt a level of pride which she found almost silly. This was a relatively easy recipe, and Adelaide had done most of the work. But when Hella looked at Adelaide, her clothes still somehow perfectly tidy, he dark eyes gleaming with happiness, Hella felt completely justified. 

They enjoyed their meal in a comfortable quiet, saying nothing, listening to the music of the lapping waves and busy streets drifting in through the open window. The pastries were imperfect, the filling a bit too sweet and the dough somewhat under-kneaded too thick, but Hella thought it was the most delicious thing she had tasted in Aubade. Her eyes met Adelaide’s across the table, and they smiled at each other, full and unrestrained. Then Hella noticed just a bit of apple filling on Adelaide’s nose, at which she could not help but laugh. Her laughter set Adelaide to giggling, a ridiculous sound to hear coming from a queen. The juxtaposition made Hella laugh harder, which further affected Adelaide, and so they fed on each others’ mirth, Hella bent double and shouting with laughter, Adelaide politely covering her mouth with a hand even as she snorted and guffawed. Eventually, they regained control of their breath, panting as if they had just run a dead sprint.

Adelaide was so beautiful, Hella thought. Her exterior so stable and well-constructed, a marble tower unto herself, but that formal rigidity concealed a true warmth, a goodness perfumed with apple and cinnamon. Lost in these thoughts, Hella almost jumped with surprise when Adelaide set down her half-eaten cake, leaned forward, and said, with all the authority of a queen and goddess, “I love you, Hella Varal.”

Hella, halfway through a bite of pastry, choked. She coughed twice, violently, into her sleeve, clearing her windpipe. She looked up, reflexive tears welling in her eyes. Adelaide stood leaned over the table, one arm extended, a look of deep worry on her face. She had forgotten for a moment, it seemed, that nothing so trivial as choking could kill someone in Aubade. The Queen of Death was more than ready to save her life. 

Hella began to cry in earnest. “Adelaide,” she managed to stutter. “Oh my god, Adelaide. I love you, too. I love you, too.” She sobbed, and laughed between the sobs, overwhelmed and overjoyed and inwardly amused with how emotional she was. 

Adelaide moved to her in one stride, cradling Hella’s head against her chest. Hella calmed herself quickly, but they remained that way for a long moment, basking in their shared happiness. Adelaide kissed Hella on the crown of her head, anointing her. Hella stood, enfolding Adelaide in her arms and craning her neck to kiss her, only now truly realizing how much taller she was than Adelaide. Adelaide rose up on the balls of her feet, leaning into the kiss with her whole self, resting entirely on Hella’s stability. 

After a few minutes that might have lasted forever, for all Hella cared, Adelaide leaned back. “Come along, Queen-killer,” she said, grinning her teasing grin, “Let’s go and share this bounty with the world.” Together, the two women gathered their pastries in a basket and, hands clasped, stepped out into the sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Secret Samol! I hope that this is sufficiently fluffy. It seems like I can never keep it completely light. Regardless, I enjoyed writing this very much, and I'm pleased with the result. I hope you are too!


End file.
